Road trip! Cross country bonding with my son

Here’s another post from The Poop contributor (and Chronicle transportation reporter) Michael Cabanatuan. Suggested background music for this post: Paul Simon’s “Graceland,” Johnny Cash’s “I’ve Been Everywhere” and any Willie Nelson live version of “On the Road Again” …

I’m not a huge risk-taker when it comes to life-threatening activities. I don’t skydive, I’ve never bungee-jumped, and I wear a helmet when I ride my bike.

videodetective.com

Clark and Rusty Griswold didn’t travel with a DVD player either.

But for some reason I decided it would be fun to drive from Colorado back to the Bay Area a few weeks ago alone with my then 3.9-year-old son, Ben — just us guys. No mom, no grandma, no DVD player.

My wife accompanied us on the drive from the Bay Area to Colorado, where we spent a week in the wilderness camping at 9,000 feet with 30 of my closest relatives. But because she had just started a new job, she needed to fly home. So I decided that Ben and I would drive back. Most of my friends and relatives questioned my sanity — or simply laughed.

“He’s gonna eat you up,” said Uncle Bill, laughing, the day before our departure. “He’s gonna eat you alive.”

Even without those encouraging words, I was getting a little nervous. What if he missed his mom and screamed for the whole 1,500 miles? What if he had to pee while I was winding down some treacherous stretch of mountain highway? What if he got bored and started throwing granola bars and Clifford the Big Red Dog books at me until I pulled over? Why didn’t I buy that DVD player?

But it was too late to turn back. After dropping my wife at the Colorado Springs airport, we headed for a nearby hotel. Then, we strolled across the street, where road trip started, as road trips often do, at a bar. It was, rest assured, a restaurant bar. The restaurant was crowded, so we waited at the bar. I hoisted Ben onto a bar stool, and the waitress brought him a tall cold one — lemonade — and me, an adult lemonade. We watched some baseball and talked about the journey ahead. Well, that and the cool car he spotted outside.

soundtrackcollector.com

Michael and Ben’s road trip was just like this movie, except with a lot less arm wrestling.

For the next four days, we ventured across southern Colorado, northern Arizona and the California desert, stopping at night in Alamosa, Colo., Cortez, Colo. and beautiful Barstow and finally grandma and grandpa’s house in Goleta. Ben proved to be a good traveling companion. He liked stopping in small towns and wandering around, enjoyed the unusual scenery of the Southwest, and let me teach him the fine art of hanging out in coffee shops or brew pubs (Parental travel trip: Most brew pubs are great places to take toddlers. Aside from the obvious liquid attractions, they have kid-friendly food, tend to be very tolerant and some even have play areas or toys).

No, it wasn’t all fun and games. Ben threw some small fits, usually when he dropped a toy on the floor of the car and I couldn’t contort myself to pick it up while driving. And he did indeed have to pee while we were winding down a 3,000-foot mountain pass with no shoulders (A well-placed scenic lookout saved us from a soggy carseat and/or a fiery death plunge). And I definitely tired of the Disney/Pixar “Cars — On the Road to Learning” CD, which we listened to at least a hundred times.

At times, we tired of each other. One night, after we got out of the car and settled into our motel room, I was giving Ben the usual orders to stop jumping on the bed or playing basketball with the little bars of soap and the wastebasket. He turned to me, and firmly but calmly said: “Daddy, if you don’t stop saying no, I’m going to tell you ‘Stop it, I don’t like it’ (His preschool’s phrase for dealing with mean kids).”

But we both enjoyed the adventure, particularly the visit to Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado — the nation’s largest sandbox. Ben raced up and down the tall sand dunes, shrieking with joy as he slid down the other side. I tried, but failed, to keep up. Some of my friends tell me that Ben will never forget the trip; others say he’ll never remember a thing. That doesn’t matter. I’ll always remember it.

Anyone else take any memorable road trips (good or bad) with a toddler? Do you think my son will remember any of the adventure? Or later in life will he simply wonder why he has a strange attraction to brew pubs and coffee shops in small towns?